It feels like a piece of me is lost Though the picture is fine on the box; But when someone cares enough to put me together They’ll see a piece of me is lost forever. Then every time they look at me The missing piece is all they’ll see
Writing lines that will never be read,
Words tumbling and jostling around in my head,
A lyric named "what I wish I had said - but I didn't."
Hearing a song that no one will sing,
That elusive tune only silence can bring,
Wishing I'd sung it like a bird on the wing - but I didn't.
Binding a book whose leaves won't be turned,
A story of flying but my feathers got burned,
I should have grown from the lessons I learned - but I didn't.
Painting my life but the bristles have dried,
Safe behind a blank canvas I hide,
Should I have risked some colour before my dreams all died?
Seems I didn't.
Could have told others my story but why would they care
So I've left it all shrouded, only I was there,
Could have put it on Facebook for a like and a share -
But I didn't.
I sang like a bird alone on a cloud,
I read that book but never out loud.
Could have shared my painting with the everyday crowd.
But I didn't .
Parys Mountain in Anglesey, Wales. The remains of a mountain whose innards contained minerals and metals mankind wanted. Her inner beauty lies exposed to the elements.
Overly romantic? Yeah, I know! What can I tell you…I’m a poet!
She stood, proud against the sea blown gales, her heart forged in the melting pot of a chaotic planet. The Mountain. She held secrets, secrets given to her as the world was formed around her. Secrets which rose her head high above the land. Secrets she held inside throughout time, holding them close, guarding them as a mother swaddling her firstborn. Until they came! Until a man dug into her skin and, in that first cut, exposed her riches, her beauty, her secret. She proudly proclaimed "See my wondrous colours! Marvel at my body!" Oh they saw! Then they came... They came in their hundreds. Swarming! Smashing! Destroying! Taking her apart, rock by coloured rock, Digging, boring, scraping, taking - taking - taking. Even as she died, her arteries were alive with the industry of her murderers. Her veins throbbing as they dug and carried her away, Until only a great chasm remained where her heart had been, And she was drawn and quartered for the crime of containing what men wanted. Then sated, they left. And she died again - for they took their beating hearts along with hers. They took their lifeblood along with hers And left her with nothing bar scars, For on her exposed belly, little would grow, little could live. They left her with nothing save the secret which had killed her, The beauty a macabre autumnal shroud - her colours shouting their agony in silence, Screaming their anger voicelessly in the wind. Yet justice will not be hers, For she is no more.
Having spent time sitting contemplating the sheer magnificence of mountains, I was left wondering what it is about them that calls mankind towards them in worship. Why do we feel the need to draw and paint them, to write poetry and songs proclaiming their magnificence. Why do we struggle up the ascents simply to slide down again? These geological accidents, caused by chaos and upheaval, inspire more than misty-eyed art; they evoke deep thoughts of inner and outer strength, of perseverance and permanence, of life – and death. They call to us and we come, spellbound, to their feet – often with the greedy intention of conquering the stoney slopes to sit at the crown, just beneath the sky. As if any man could ever conquer such a creation! We stand atop, having dragged our puny, time-limited bodies towards the stars across terrain we were not meant to step upon, and call to the world that we are conquerors. He who has climbed above others rules the world, he shouts. But does the mighty hill bow down to its master? Does it submit, subjugated to our command? It does not. It never will.
Mountains are the guide to many meditations in our quest for peace and enlightenment – we raise our vibrations to the heights, we slow our thoughts to resonate with the solid, cold rocks, we diminish the ego in the face of these massive natural creations. We see the peaks reach up towards the heat of the sun with worn fingers and imagine that we can do likewise. We allow our insignificant concerns to billow away on clouds which cover and reveal the summits according to the whims of the breeze. We wonder at what it has witnessed, the changes it has seen. Does the master meditator need to ascend the mountain to absorb its deep wisdom? Ask the mountain…it will consider for many lifetimes and reply still in silence: it cares not! And that answer teaches us what we desire to learn. The mountain has long since been there, it is only there and will be nowhere else. Risen by violence, it is the peace that remained. It does not have to struggle and strive. It has no questions. It has achieved what we seek; the mountain just is.
Natural beauty is disregarded in our world. We favour the plastic, the gaudy, the false. If anything, natural beauty is a disadvantage. It leads to being overrun with tourists or shot.
North Repps, North Norfolk.
Hidden in the comfort of our metal gypsy wagon, I watch a beautiful pair of pheasants pick their way towards me around the sympathetically camouflaged green painted toilets. Stunningly marked, such creatures are better enjoyed thus – still wearing their feathers. It saddens me that this brace, these comrades without arms, are seen as sporting targets by those who seem to have lost touch with the idea of a level playing field.
It saddens me to have to accept the guilt-edged suspicion that my enjoyment of wooded copses, stands of peace amongst industrialised fields, relies on the ritual sacrifice of these beautiful birds.
No sport, no trees? There would be no need to maintain the beautiful little copses which pepper our countryside.
Stand and stare at them one day. Really look! The intricacy of their markings belies belief. Such beauty! And mankind in our civilised way simply sees a plaything – something which cannot hit back.
In penning the description “comrades without arms“, I had watched the pair walking and pecking gracefully. Only the odd flutter of feather ruffled them as the breeze momentarily disturbed their balance.
I wondered ” how do they manage without arms and hands”.
It hit me with a smile of embarrassment that the birds, seeing humans, would wonder what we had done to offend God so greatly that He had taken away our wings.
Maybe God is not a “sportsman” either. He keeps the playing field level.
We had often talked of wild camping. To motorhome owners this is a foray into the savage, untamed wilds of lay-bys or car parks – without electric hookup! It is ridiculed by the macho backpackers who venture into the real wilderness….but hey ho, we can feel as though we are being brave in our metal tent if we are not safely tucked up in a certified, registered site. Yes, we have torches and blankets, gas fuelled cooking and heating, and a toilet….but it is still wild camping because we are not in a snug, numbered bay with a plug in supply of electric! Soooo….
Ignoring the perils, we turned to the lawless, wild side in Norfolk when we snuck into a little car park along the coast road after dark and parked up. It was quiet …the only wild aspect was the stormy weather…but we felt like naughty school kids and were perversely quite pleased when some early morning twitcher dobbed us in to the warden the next day. He politely reminded us that overnight parking was not encouraged – then chatted about his job and the local wildlife. Nice guy. He told us that their main objection was that motorhome owners had emptied their onboard chemical toilets into the grounds and watercourses of the nature reserve. We were slightly ashamed to be considered part of that group and assured him that we would not have even considered such a thing. Disgusting on several levels. But – wild camping – we don’t think it is for us. We spent much of the day seeking a suitable place to park up and wasted what would have been tourist or walking and exploring time in the locality. We also wasted a lot of diesel and it would probably have been cheaper to have booked a pitch somewhere instead of stealing a piece of a free car park for a few hours. Crime actually doesn’t pay. It amused us though. Even travelling without a site booked in advance is fraught with little irritations – we have Google and club handbooks but no-one answers their damn phones so again, we waste time, roaming data and fuel seeking out a place to stop. The main issue we had with becoming outlaws was using our toilet for…well…you know. It has been the final frontier for us…the step too far. Until now. Turning the little radio up as loud as we could, amid much encouragement and mirth, we were brave soldiers. Thus another taboo was broken. We were outlaws of the meanest, baddest kind …the sort who use their onboard loo for number two!! Don’t mess with us!
As “Conscious Folk” we have considered our impact on this planet. This is not a “is global warming man-made” discussion….where I sit right now mammoths roamed in a tropical jungle and an ice age formed the landscape.Warming and cooling is not a modern phenomenon.
Messing up our planet
This is just a tiny piece about how after all that, people are messing it up.
On our travels, as I look through the glass of the van windscreen, I have become aware of the piles of discarded waste – be they in land fill sites, lay-bys or pieces of thrown litter with colours rivalling the hedgerow flowers. We see oily films casting rainbows over water courses and bags waving gaily from tree branches.
Fridges and cookers stand in beautiful outdoor kitchens – miles from the nearest plug.
Even if one has the weird sense of humour to see pretties, this is not doing the environment any good.
Who are we to talk?
Ok, it is difficult to preach whilst driving around in a 3 ton, dirty-diesel guzzling VW CREE, but it isn’t going to stop me. Our excuse is that the vehicle already existed and the footprint of scrapping it may be bigger than the miles we cover.
And we can’t afford a new one.
To make up to Mother Nature for the diesel, we are trying to think how we can be more conscious of our impact and reduce it. Packaging is a good thing to rant about – the amount of plastic we use as a species is frightening, much of which is not recycled or even recyclable. Putting something in the recycle bin is not a guarantee of it not causing further damage. It isn’t even a guarantee of it being recycled apparently.
There are shampoo and conditioner bars which save the use of a bottle. Better NO bottle than a bottle to recycle.
Is there a bar for washing up? It would be a good idea.
Fruit and vegetables are often cheaper when packaged. Is this to allow the supermarkets to control the amount we buy maybe? Or because if buying loose fruit and veg, we reject the less than perfect ones? Or maybe because people with a “cause” will pay more.
Beyond packaging, what about the phenomenon of the upgrade … how many cars and electrical items are sold daily when the old ones still perform well? Where do the discarded items end up? We are all encouraged to keep up with the latest fashion as this keeps the money rolling in.
I could go on, and often do, but this is well researched and publicised territory….we all KNOW but do we act? What conscious efforts can we make?
I am a bit of a Womble in that I find a use for bits I pick up.
Not that I am much like a Womble in looks – apart from the lack of height and an odd taste in hats perhaps.
I try to reuse containers – sometimes going a tad too far I am told. But tubs with lids are SO handy! I donate clothing, books etc. to charity shops and have been known use end-of-life clothing as dusters and floor cloths. Broken things often have a secondary use somehow. It is too easy to bin things rather than reuse or upcycle.
I wish I had the time to make rag rugs, patchwork quilts and to grow our own food.
But we are thinking consciously. We are trying to use less electricity, eat locally produced food, and generally be mindful of what we are doing.
This rant is not to advise – I don’t have the expertise nor the time – it is more to ask for ideas. And if it makes one person think and react in one tiny way, then job done.
Our world can be changed for the better by one tiny action after another. Be part of the change.